


Youthful Hamartia

by orphan_account



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: slightly au??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Seth’s senior year and the boys are getting ready for prom. They’ve got dates, tuxedos, now they only need to get some booze...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youthful Hamartia

**Author's Note:**

> Not shippy stuff, forgive me! just some oldschool brotherly bonding. Be gentle with me, as this is the first fanfic I've written in forever. ;_;

> _Clink-clank_ , a bundle of coins hit a worn out table,  _clink-clank_  against the pale wood. The last coin vibrates soundlessly on the ocean of scratches and coffee cup stains. Two tall shadows cover the reflection from a small window to the North, followed by a boyish chuckle.
> 
> "You really think that’s gonna be enough for four cans?" asks the younger of the men, a smug grin made childish by a pair of oversized, way-out-of fashion glasses. They dig into his cheekbones, a hint of baby fat still present, and give him the appearance of a man-child. He’ll be turning sixteen in two weeks.
> 
> "It has to. I can’t show up to prom without hooch if I’m gonna drag my baby brother along with me." The older one frowned, tapping nervously on the countertop. Soon enough, an idea comes to mind. It’s bad, not the worst he’s ever had, but wrong nonetheless.
> 
> Before the younger could rebuttal, the older one speaks again. “I have a plan, Richie. Wanna hear how the brothers Gecko are going to hack this fucking dance?” He smiles, a false veil of confidence reflecting all the films he had watched far too many times. James Dean and Al Pacino and Marlon Brando; all the stars, the true men, those who were ever worth admiring. When he smiles like that it’s almost easy to forget the child beneath the surface, the one abused, the escapist.
> 
> Richie smirks, and it’s something between laughter and boyish adoration. He almost blushes. “What are we gonna do, Seth?” The teen mocks sincerity, mimicking the tone his father uses when he’s trying to sound serious and deadly. But his pitch is too high and his smile refuses to disappear, so instead he looks quite flustered; a puppy being offered a run out in the wild.
> 
> "You, with those cute glasses o’ yours, pay for as many beers as you can. Get talking with the cashier, and all. Meanwhile I’ll take whatever else we need and be on my merry way. Jackie’s still don’t have them fancy cameras, and I doubt the stupid prom kiddos will rat us out. They know better than that." Seth cracks his knuckles before crossing his arms, hoping the stance will give him a boost of reassurance. ‘We can do this,’ he thinks, ‘it’s just a stupid little store’.
> 
> "If pops catches us, we are  _dead_ ,” Richie protests, though the erratic glister in his eyes give away the excitement in the danger. “He’ll give us such a beating we’ll be crawling our way to the liquor store for the next two months.”
> 
> "Yeah, well, fuck him." Seth mutters, blinking through the blatant lie, "The old man’s gonna drop dead anyway. Our memories, on the other and, we have to live with ‘til the day we die."
> 
> "Yeah, bu-" Richie begins to protest, interrupted mid-sentence.
> 
> "Don’t you trust me, Richie? do you not trust the one person who really loves you in this filthy goddamn world?" Seth breaks their distance, pressing his bruised, skinny fingers into his brother’s shoulders. The two never had the luxury of abundance or having enough of anything.
> 
> "Yeah, I-I trust you." Richie nods anxiously.
> 
> "Good. Now, get on your damn bike. We have some booze to steal, yeah?" Seth smacks his brother’s shoulders a couple of times, furrowing his brows though a grin still manages to resurface.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> Around the corner, beside the backdoor entrance, the boys leap off their bikes and fix their attire. Stepping away from the lazily spinning wheels, they walk in unison, second-hand prom tuxedos not quite the right size accentuating their youth. Richie’s pants are too short and Seth’s sleeves are too tight on his biceps. He had been training recently; mostly so he could finally hit his father back, partially because the girls like it (though he would never admit to either). They circle around the store, following a small group of teens dressed in formal to the main entrance.
> 
> "Well I’ll be damned," a blonde girl exclaims behind the brothers, "Seth Gecko. Haven’t seen your adorable lil’ face ‘round here since freshman year." A petite pink dress envelopes her frail limbs, a teasing smile decorating her freckled face.
> 
> "I’ve been busy," he lies. It isn’t because she dislikes the girl (he still remembers the lingering taste of strawberry lip balm and cheap whiskey from necking in their first year of high school), the two simple haven’t the luxury of lingering and chatting their hearts out.
> 
> "Too busy to give a friend a call?" she crosses her arms, perky breasts pressing against soft fabric. "If my homey trailer can afford a phone, surely you can, too. They ain’t that expensive."
> 
> "No, Annie, it’s just that I-" Seth explains impatiently, turning to look at his brother. Richie stands there wordlessly, uncomfortably observing the conversation without a clue of what to say or do. "My brother and I really need to go. We need some hooch for prom, you know? can’t let down the ladies."
> 
> "So you can’t afford a phone but you can waste your precious dollars on alcohol?" Annie accuses, straightening her posture.
> 
> "It ain’t your business what my brother spends his money on, you know. You shouldn’t meddle in other people’s finances. It’s rude." Richie finally speaks up, serious but still a tad nervous.
> 
> "You heard the boy. See you around, Annie." Seth cocks his eyebrows, taking Richie’s forearm in hand.
> 
> "Why are you taking a fifteen year-old kid to prom, anyway?" The blonde shouts back, but it’s too late, and the brothers are already in the store.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Run, you fucking idiot!"
> 
> The Gecko brothers bust through the back door, frantically leaping onto their rusty bikes. Seth ties the plastic bag on his wrist, praying silently that the bottles won’t break on the way home. His nose is bleeding, probably broken, staining his white shirt with a deep shade of crimson.
> 
> They pedal hard and fast, only glancing back occasionally in paranoia. There is no one following them, but they’re scared nonetheless. An old man curses as they speed right by him on a red light, but they don’t bother to come up with a witty remark.
> 
> Making a sudden stop at a decaying bungalow, Seth and Richie sprint into the house. They can hear their own heavy breathing and hasty steps, no one on the premises to greet them.
> 
> "Oh, thank fuck. He’s not home yet." Seth exhales, leaning his hands on his knees.
> 
> "Your shirt is ruined," Richie says breathlessly, trying to catch his own breath.
> 
> "Whatever. Fuck prom. I don’t like half those assholes in school, anyway." He starts laughing, but instead coughs dryly and painfully. They two make their way to the living room couch, turning on an old television set. "Wanna watch ‘The Good Fellas’?"
> 
> "Is that a rhetoric question?" Richie coughs in an attempt to chuckle.
> 
> "Yeah. Been working on my English real hard this semester. Rhetoric devices and all. Gotta have a sharp tongue if you wanna be someone in this world." Seth grins pridefully, going through a small collection of illegally downloaded movies. He fishes out a slim container that has the name of the film carelessly scribbled on it, and goes to insert the CD into the little black box.
> 
> "Thanks, by the way. For kicking that guy’s ass for me." Richie said as a matter of fact. Or at least that’s what he wanted it to sound like.
> 
> "Don’t mention it. You’re my brother. No one gets to push you around and get away with it. You are the best damn thing that happened to this nobody town; a fucking genius." the older brother asserted, pressing the play button. "Now, let’s watch some quality cinema and get really fucking drunk."
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> An old man in a plaid shirt and a greasy brown jacket stumbled through the bungalow doors. He reeked of gin and tobacco and made no effort to not make a horrendous amount of noise.
> 
> "Papa’s home, boys," he muttered, before remembering what day it was. "Fuck, the little shits are at prom." A slight limp to his walk, the man walked over to the living room table to find a half empty bottle of Jack. Swinging the drink, he chugged the bitter liquid without a second of thought.
> 
> "Motherfuckers wastin’ my money on hooch," he sneered, "they’ll get a good lesson about finances tomorrow mornin’, the two of them.”
> 
> On the other side of the house, in the darkness of a small bedroom, the brothers sat still. It was only when they heard the loud thuds of his steps across the hall and into his bedroom, that they spoke up again.
> 
> "He’s a fucking psycho, Seth. He’s going to kill us." Richie whispered. His hands were shaking and his stomach growled in protest to all that alcohol consumed without a bite of anything to eat.
> 
> "No he ain’t. He may be our father, but we’re the Gecko brothers, and ain’t no one stepping all over us."
> 
> They lay in their separate beds, drunken haziness wearing out slowly to let sleepiness come sweeping in.
> 
> "Promise me we’ll be okay," Richie mumbled, half-asleep.
> 
> "I promise," Seth yawned, "now, sleep. Night, Richie."
> 
> "Good night, Seth."

 


End file.
